


Canvas

by heterosapien (Jungwolf)



Category: Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman, NCT (Band), Red Velvet (K-pop Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Romance, poetic beauty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 16:36:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20979008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jungwolf/pseuds/heterosapien
Summary: “Paint on me instead. Use me as a canvas.”Jaehyun was an artist, not professional, a hobbyist, a self-proclaimed artist if anything. And Taeyong? He was more than willing to be Jaehyun’s model on weekends when he wasn’t working. It was perhaps the results of the long afternoons spent with the strokes of Jaehyun’s brushes and Taeyong’s candour on display for Jaehyun to marvel into dozens of empty off-white canvasses that they had absurdly mastered the art of reading each other’s expressions through silent ‘discreet’ glances. It was perhaps on these afternoons of being pioneers of unorthodox postmodern art that they had discovered themselves.





	Canvas

** chapter.1 **

** TRANSCRIPTION **

**… At that moment, whether taken or not, Taeyong was his.**

* * *

**“I’m not sure I want to go ahead with this, but I need to know, and better with you than anyone else. I want to know your body, I want to know how you feel, I want to know you, and through you, me.” – Elio (Call Me By Your Name, André Aciman)**

* * *

Jung Jaehyun, Korean-American, age 22, unemployed, recluse. Lee Taeyong, Korean, age 27, librarian, introvert. They had nothing in common. The age difference between them posed an inevitable mental block. Their views were poles apart. As young as he was, Jaehyun had no interest in finding an audience much older than himself or associating with them for that matter. However, in one moment of spontaneity of spewed nonsense he had committed somewhat of a grave sin (the repercussions of which were to be dealt with much later) by persuading Taeyong, a librarian, to be his model.

Only moments ago he had been in his apartment, contemplating. Basking in the honey glow of his room, a pile of carton boxes untouched; mostly because he didn’t know when he would have to move again, the sheets sprawled on the mattress in a disastrous manner. A pot of fresh coffee sits on the marbled counter alongside a piece of half-eaten ‘French toast’ set aside for later probably. Objects of least importance to him scattered on the floor. It seemed like home yet lacked the warmth of it, it looked more abandoned than livable, perhaps with a little cleaning it would look more homey. For how long had he been away? Perhaps two… maybe three weeks. As if decades had passed since, everything seemed a distant memory. His parents, their faces, the sound of their voices. Jaehyun was wanted back by them and why wouldn’t he be? He was their only child and very dearly loved. His decision of settling in Seoul by himself, seemed an act of self-indulgence and arrogance. At his age, this was selfishness, stupid, childish. He wasn’t one who would go against his parents’ wishes, not at this age but he couldn’t bother. Only moments ago had he been thinking about all his life choices, everything that he had done wrong with no will whatsoever to correct them.

Maybe if he wasn’t suffocating for so long under the weight of his own responsibilities and expectances, he would have continued his life as is. Jaehyun had been too complacent, giving so much more than he received, so accommodating of others he had forgotten himself in the long-run. Everyone had been so used to taking him for granted. He gave too much leaving nothing for himself.

Jaehyun liked painting. Was he a natural at it? Had he taken up classes for it? That, nobody knew, nor did anyone bother to ask. He seemed too lost in his thoughts to be disturbed by curious minds. Was he a professional? He was not, and this told everyone more than they should know. He was self-learned, everything he did was from the heart and for love of it. It was never his intention to pursue art as a profession. He possessed no such skill which would earn him the title of a professional artist. He was appreciated and praised for his talents nonetheless. It was an escape from reality.

And just like that, he needed to escape reality. Jaehyun needed to pick up whatever was left of himself, he had to leave.

‘He just had to leave.’

It wasn’t anything in particular that he was looking for, but inspiration, very vaguely, must have crossed his mind a few times as his calloused fingers feel the hard covered spine of the books lined in shelves that stood at least seven feet tall. The smell of old books chaffed all five of his senses, particularly the sense of smell, that he had forgotten the strong smell of coffee. Shame Jaehyun for very easily letting old bundles of paper and ink overshadow it, a smell that had taken him so very long to be accustomed to. He never did like the smell and taste of it. But it had been a ritual to sip a cup each day to help him get by especially since he hadn’t been sleeping as much and he needed to stay awake. The smell of books were nice, and he would come to like it, but he decided he would not, exercising the finality of his decisions by sliding the thick book back in its place amongst others of its kind, that had sandwiched it before he had pulled it out with much difficulty. The book on ‘Famous Artists’ did pique his interest until the words had bored him. His knowledge in art was that of an average person’s; he knew what everyone else knew- common knowledge, so to say. He was proud of himself to even know of famous paintings like _‘The Scream’_ and_ ‘Mona Lisa’_ and artists like Leonardo Da Vinci, Vincent van Gogh and last but not the least, Michelangelo who had very painfully painted the magnificent ceiling of the Sistine Chapel over a span of four years.

However, he had been extensively researching _‘expressionism’_; the other ‘isms’ did not interest him as much. And by ‘researching’ Jaehyun means reading the most random articles on the internet.

He’d like to think he knows a lot, but he doesn’t know half the things he speaks of most of the time and if he did not possess such charming dimples that could melt away the skepticism from the faces of those whom he would hold conversations with, he wouldn’t have felt lucky at all.

Jaehyun had lost touch of himself and furthermore, deeper emotions and what better way to reconnect- he thought. Much easier thought of than put into action, apparently. Although he couldn’t quite understand how he could convey his emotions through his paintings especially when all he had felt in the past few years were aggression, arrogance and emptiness, with the occasional loneliness.

Why had he come here? To the library of all places. He didn’t like books or the awkward silence that prevailed, or the incoherent thudding sounds that bounced off the carpeted floors prodding irritably at the already grim silence. His legs had brought him here, and Jaehyun had yet to find out why.

“That book doesn’t belong there,” A voice behind him said firmly. While Jaehyun frantically searches for the owner of the voice, he was met with an analytical stare from behind rounded glasses that perch almost at the tip of the male’s nose bridge. “A stereotypical Librarian,” he thought.

‘Live Art.’

His mind spoke again.

“Someone must’ve stuck it in I suppose. But that doesn’t mean you can’t put it back where it belongs.”

The words were spoken in a deep calming voice that leaves Jaehyun breathless, quite literally. It was devastating how Jaehyun thought this was the work of fate. Very contradicting to the notion that he had felt utterly useless, his worth seemingly not more than that of a fly’s. He would take any chance if it seemed the least bit hopeful and he does. It was from then on that Jaehyun’s visits to the library had become frequent. He had been enamoured, captivated in ways one could only explain through emotions and emotions only. But that was one department in which he so deeply lacked now that he only felt empty, the hollowness of his soul pleading to be filled to the brim. But he could very well paint them into pictures. Jaehyun’s brushes could convey a thousand stories, they held that sort of power. Again contradictory. 

It was on one of those instances that Jaehyun had wandered into the library, pulling out an assortment of books; from Architecture to Modern Economics, Literature to Financial Markets of the World, he had it all sprawled on the desk in a disastrous manner. Not that he cared but Taeyong did.

Taeyong glares at him, typical librarian style, his stare saying more than necessary but also surprisingly not more than they should. He then shakes his head in disapproval, picking up each book and stacking them up neatly on one side of the table. He seemed to be pleased with his tower of books.

“Please handle the books with care.” He’d said, and Jaehyun mindlessly nods, much less obediently. A flurry of emotions sweeping through him.

It had become a routine for Taeyong to clean up his mess, sometimes bring him a cup of ‘milk’ (Jaehyun had explicitly disclosed his love for milk), sometimes drape a blanket over a ‘Jaehyun’ who had fallen asleep while reading books upside down. He didn’t come to the library because he loved reading, that much was clear. But he liked doing those things for him and he would leave each time with his lips beautifully arched into a smile.

Jaehyun’s table is, as usual, a whole mess of the magnitude 9.1. as of today and Taeyong sometimes wonders if he was a child in disguise, nevertheless he had grown fond of him. His cheeks lay pressed against one of the books that, not to his surprise, was upside down, milk mug on the farthest corner of the table; so it would not spill on any of the books, and a precarious leaning tower of books on one end. Taeyong smiles meekly to himself, squeezing his arms around the folded blanket at the sight of him. He wasn’t drooling just yet but he was about to.

Taeyong tiptoes to his side, very slowly bringing the blanket over the sleeping figure, and then carefully draping it over his back. By now the library was very much empty. The last group of students had just left. It was exam season and it was perhaps only natural for the library to be flocked with school kids of all ages.

Taeyong is caught in the act as Jaehyun sheepishly rolls his eyes open, yawning innocently.

“What are you doing?”

Jaehyun manages to say clumsily in between elongated yawns, his enunciations comical. However, Taeyong simply grins at the sight of the younger male’s dimples, patting his back. His motherly instinct was something to be envious of, and something Jaehyun had taken notice of.

“It’s 5, its freezing, we’re going to close in half an hour and you’ll catch a cold if you keep falling asleep like that.”

And it was then that Jaehyun finally grew the balls to finally ask him to model for him. For all the shady reason, of course.

Taeyong had shrugged it off owing to some important work he had to attend to that weekend. However, Jaehyun was persistent. His relentless pleading went on for a few more weeks until Taeyong had finally agreed to it, neither out of spite, nor out of pure delight.

“Fine. I’ll do it.” He had said, with the most angelic laughter that had graced Jaehyun’s very ears, like those of cherubs.

The first few Sundays were spent in an awkward silence, coincidentally exactly the kind that resided within the confines of the library. It was painful to say the least. Jaehyun would quietly but meticulously work across the canvas, the only sounds that delight the mundane nature of their sessions being the ones from outside. Birds chirping, the occasional laughter of the passersby, engines roaring, the wind blowing. The records that Jaehyun played were very much mundane as well. Bach, Beethoven, Mozart; they weren’t bad, they were masterpieces but the atmosphere demanded a little bit of liveliness, not to complain. The influence of his being brought up in America, he presumes. Although Taeyong was pretty sure Bruno Mars was a thing in America, he did not question. He was out of place there, he did what he was asked to do- he modeled. Or he didn’t want to butt in on Jaehyun’s musical interests not that he knew much about him to begin with. They were good for concentration he supposes.

One of these days Jaehyun lets Taeyong be in charge of the music. Taeyong’s taste was questionable to say the least but they were strangely quite pleasant. BoA, Girl’s Generation, TVXQ, F(x), Red Velvet and other Korean pop groups that he could not prioritize to remember. He could’ve sworn that by the end of the day he had become a ‘_Sone_’, a ‘_Cassiopeia_’, a ‘_MeU_’, a ‘_Reveluv_’ and an ‘_Exo-L_’ although he’s not sure whose fandoms each of those were to be.

It was strange how Taeyong fit right into his life, whether or not he would be an important part of it was still unclear, but Jaehyun only hopes he is. That he would stay for a long time. For the moment it didn’t matter what Taeyong thought about it, Jaehyun was content.

Taeyong sat in his usual place by the window, reading a book; Nicholas Sparks’ _‘The Notebook’_ for the nth time, while Jaehyun sorted his brushes and paint tubes. Modeling had been tiring that day, He had to sit in a demanding pose for as long as three hours and to say that he had the worst back ache was an understatement. Surely, holding onto a vase of flowers (a mighty heavy one at that), and pretending to admire them whilst trying to look as natural as possible was no easy task. What emotion was that to represent? It wasn’t like Taeyong would go about sniffing every flower he saw, let alone a whole vase of flowers. Most importantly where had he acquired the vase from? Jaehyun only kept the things that he needed the most. It was evident from the way he owned just ‘one’ table and ‘a’ chair. His bookshelf empty, well almost except for a few journals and dust perhaps. And there were hideous boxes occupying a considerable amount of space in the corner, He couldn’t care what was inside. But it was also then that Taeyong had asked Jaehyun to be the model instead, to which Jaehyun responded with a grim shake of the head.

Taeyong had been a little off that day, Jaehyun doesn’t want to pry. But he’s concerned about the way he behaved around him. He could be sad and Jaehyun wouldn’t say anything if Taeyong didn’t want to tell him and that was okay because blindly trusting someone is something he wouldn’t do, not anymore, especially not after his trust had been broken so many times by the people he loved the most.

“You’re handsome you know that? Poetic almost…”

“Poetic beauty…?” Jaehyun melts into soft laughter, still shrugging his shoulder as if to say _“How about no?”_

He would never do a self portrait. Not that it wasn’t on his nonexistent _‘list of things to do’_, it all just seemed a little too narcissistic and self-flattering to him.

“I’m quite satisfied doing portraits of you thank you very much.”

And with that, Taeyong’s suggestion had been politely declined. Taeyong wasn’t one who was good with arguments but he had his own way of getting what he wanted.

“Fine! If you won’t do it then I will.”

He huffs, crossing his arms bossily across his chest and puffing his cheeks for good measure. Jaehyun grimaces in amusement, his dimples not failing to seize Taeyong’s interest, as his resolve already seemed to falter at the sight of them. “You’re going to what?” Jaehyun arches a questioning brow at Taeyong. “What are you going to do Yongie.” He repeats, and for a brief moment there he could see that Taeyong’s heart dropped. He did not mean to offend, it was unintentional but Taeyong knew he didn’t mean it and that had made all the difference.

“I’m the artist and you’re the model!”

He insists, beaming his large orbs at Jaehyun. “I can’t… I have scars!”

Taeyong chuckles, “No one’s asking you to strip silly.” It was Jaehyun’s turn to flush and pout. What had he been thinking about indeed.

“I am Taeyongcasso!”

“O-Okay then!!”

At this point, Jaehyun doesn’t know why he agreed to this but it isn’t half bad he decides and he plays along. For the longest time Jaehyun tried not to break into a smile or flush at the way Taeyong glances at him, His heart stopping almost before madly beating against the cage of his ribs. Taeyong takes a good half an hour, face contoured in all kinds of constipated expressions before a gleaming smile came onto his lips and he proudly shows Jaehyun his masterpiece. Jaehyun had barely modeled or rather he was a natural at it.

For a rough pencil sketch from a typical librarian, it was pretty _damn_ good.

All the these years that Jaehyun had spent trying to perfect the art and then Taeyong waltzes into his life and his heart… to show him how he had been doing all of it wrong! Taeyong just had natural talent and it made Jaehyun a tiny bit jealous, who wouldn’t be?

“You know?” Taeyong hums absentmindedly, leisurely sauntering towards Jaehyun, dropping the sketchbook from his hand and onto the floor. The graphite pencil rolls away unnoticed.

“Are you really scarred… I’m curious… I wanna see…” He mouths, soft gaze falling on him from across the room, never faltering even on nearing him, instead, growing more intense. Jaehyun swears he saw sin in those glossy orbs.

Jaehyun feels his heart tighten in his chest as if it hadn’t already been beating so fast.

Taeyong lay his head on Jaehyun’s lap as he kneels beside him, “What are you looking at?” he muses, tracing his jaws with his index that travels down to his Adam’s Apple. His own cheeks was met with Jaehyun’s hands, caressed gently, his locks being tousled ever so slightly with those large hands that he only wished he could hold. “I’m looking at you… How could you be this perfect… hmm?”

“Why don’t you like to be called_ Yongie_?”

There it is again. That pained look on his face. He can almost feel himself hurting from the sight of it.

“I will, if you give new meaning to it…”

His words flow like the soft rush of secret rivulets that show not their true nature, tantalizing him with the sounds it made. It was a promise, a distant one, but for that Taeyong would have to accept him first.

Jaehyun didn’t take Taeyong to be one who was smooth with innuendos. But who’s he to complain?

Taeyong’s cheek rubs tenaciously on a portion of Jaehyun’s thigh, dangerously close to his crotch. It feels tentative but pure. In a few unprecedented seconds Taeyong takes the button of the said man’s jeans in between his teeth, innocently looking up Jaehyun before doing away with it and the zipper.

It’s not a surprise that Jaehyun is roused by Taeyong. He had been in one too many of Jaehyun’s fantasies.

Taeyong delves into it, as if it were the most normal thing to do.

By the time he was done, Taeyong coughs up the viscous substance that beautifully coat his bottom lip, dripping down his chin from the corners of his mouth. He has the most precious puppy eyes on display and one could not blame Jaehyun for finding it cute that Taeyong had choked on his semen. Taeyong was one person who could make both crying and choking look cute. It felt wrong to put it that way but Jaehyun wasn’t one to dwell too long on it.

It isn’t Jaehyun’s first time. He’s had his dick shoved down throats on many occasions, experienced mouths that relax and go slack when he begins to thrust into them as compared to Taeyong’s inexperienced cavern, but sweet nonetheless. This however, was by far the most erratic and strangely and erotically pleasurable experience. His inexperience did wonders, and Jaehyun would give him a 15 for effort.

“On my lap. Now.”

With blooming cheeks Taeyong obediently crawls onto Jaehyun’s Lap. There’s a whine on his lips followed by a shaky breath drawn out of pleasure as their erections briefly brush together. As much as it amuses Jaehyun, he too groans at the sensation, surprised at how he was roused again so quickly.

Taeyong presses his temple with Jaehyun’s, whispering against his skin that would be fanned with hot breaths, and slick with passionate heated kisses.

“_Paint on me instead. Use me as a canvas._”

At that moment, whether taken or not, Taeyong was his.

Jaehyun hadn’t realized that all this while he was deeply infatuated with Taeyong. Perhaps he was more than just infatuated, it was something of an obsession by now.

The creaking sound of the chair bothered neither of them, should the support of the stool give away under their combined weight, they would find a way to keep going, primitively so.

**Author's Note:**

> If you’re here I’m assuming it’s because you’re an artist, nctzen, or just like reading terrible Jaeyong smut… either way thank you for showing interest in ‘Canvas’ and I hope it will not disappoint. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments if you’re feeling generous; as a writer, these are the things that I literally live for also it motivates me further- more writing means more improvement and better quality fanfictions. Don’t be surprised by the way I reply to comments either, I’m an awkward bean and will forever be an awkward bean. Thank you for taking the time to read my stories and have a great day!


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